<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Rupert the Gunsmith and the Value of Simple Stories: An Essay by DaxFugue</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596411">Rupert the Gunsmith and the Value of Simple Stories: An Essay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaxFugue/pseuds/DaxFugue'>DaxFugue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dying Light (Video Game), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Analysis, Essays, Nonfiction, article</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:13:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaxFugue/pseuds/DaxFugue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>!! MINOR DYING LIGHT SPOILERS !!<br/>An analytical essay on a short chain of sidequests in the game Dying Light, and a simple breakdown on the value of a short and straightforward story that is well told.<br/>This essay will touch upon fairly heavy topics, though it won't delve into graphic details.</p><p>(Written by Anne Fugue of Dax System)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Rupert the Gunsmith and the Value of Simple Stories: An Essay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dying Light is one of our favorite games of all time, and in spite of its flaws, it has a lot to offer, even beyond the viscerally enjoyable mechanics, decent graphics, and excellent audio. The main storyline leaves much to be desired in terms of pacing, tone, and ludonarrative dissonance, but the real gems of the writing can be found in the side quests scattered around the game's two maps. It's relatively common knowledge among writing circles that it's easier to write a short story than a long one. It's why shows with concise single-episode or short multi-part arcs often feel more satisfying and conclusive than larger, over-arching plots. For example, the X-Files, in our opinion, was at the peak of its stride when it was just doing monster of the week plots that lasted one or two episodes; by that same coin, the show displayed its weaknesses much more clearly when entire seasons revolved around the ongoing conspiracy plotlines. This doesn't necessarily mean that long-form stories are inherently worse than short ones, they're simply harder to pull off in a satisfying and engaging way.</p><p> </p><p>Now, in storytelling, it can often be assumed that a story has to be new and innovative to be good or valuable. That it has to break the mold and say something bold and important. <span class="u"><em><strong>That's a</strong></em><em><strong>ll</strong></em><em><strong> bullshit.</strong></em></span> As the saying goes, there's nothing new under the sun. It's all been done a hundred times before. Originality isn't about making something brand new, it's about making it personal, engaging, and an enjoyable experience for your audience. It's not about making a new story, it's about making <em>your</em> story. It doesn't need to say something big and important to be worth time or energy, either. It doesn't need to have in-depth social commentary or deeper messages about the world, it can just be a good story.</p><p> </p><p>Dying Light has a short chain of quests in the second area, 'Old Town,' that focuses on assisting a gunsmith named Rupert. The story is short, simple, engaging, and deeply personal. It begins with trying to find a gunsmith in hopes of getting ahold of new weaponry. But as soon as the player character, Crane, tracks Rupert to his hiding place, it immediately becomes more complicated. He has holed up in a daycare and is watching over a few young children. Rupert explains that he has lied to the children about the nature of the zombie outbreak, and that his wife should return soon to take over the childcare. WIthin the first conversation, there is a brilliant exchange. Crane asks where the children's parents are, and Rupert grimly replies <em>"Dead, I hope. I tell them to stay away from the windows, but each day I'm terrified that one of them will wander over, and see their mom or dad shambling down the street."</em> We may be misremembering the exact phrasing of the dialogue, but regardless, the tone has been set immediately and cleanly.  It lacks melodrama, while still clearly establishing the darkness of the situation. It characterizes Rupert as being genuinely concerned for the children, and trying to shield them from trauma, even if it means inventing a story that will potentially be a lot of work to deal with down the line. Crane calls the main group of survivors to call for reinforcements, and they inform him that it will take time to get help out there.</p><p> </p><p>The first part of the quest is to find insulin for one of the children, a diabetic in desperate need of the medicine. It's a fairly straightforward fetch quest, and doesn't do much in the way of further plot beats. Crane, who throughout the game is excellently characterized, gets further elaboration on his character in the next section. Upon returning, Rupert tells Crane to talk to the children while he administers the insulin, and that his wife should return any minute now. In spite of his hesitation, Crane is clearly good around kids. He speaks with a more nonchalant and relaxed tone, and demonstrates either experience or strong social intuition in his interactions. The first child he talks to tells Crane about venturing downstairs with some toy blocks, a location Rupert established as off-limits, and talks about how he heard scary noises by the basement, and dropped his blocks while fleeing. Crane, while retrieving the boy's blocks, goes down to the basement. Through the locked door is the sound of a zombie.</p><p> </p><p>As Crane returns the blocks to the child, the story immediately becomes more intimately personal. Crane confronts Rupert about where his wife is, and despite insisting that she will return soon, and that once she's back, he can return to his workshop, Crane only needs to say that he was down by the basement. Rupert caves, and begins to lament that he couldn't bring himself to hurt his wife, even if what he knew as his wife is gone.</p><p><em>"Sometimes in those noises, I swear I can still hear a tiny trace of her voice."</em> Rupert confesses.</p><p><em>"</em><em>Just... give me the key."</em> Crane solemnly responds.</p><p> </p><p>As the second-to-last part of the quest, you go down into the basement, and put down Rupert's zombified wife. There's no big horde battle, or long parkour sequence, or complicated traps, or big twist. Just one zombie, seemingly identical to the hundreds you've thoughtlessly killed beforehand. But even still, the tone and setup makes it feel just a bit more involved and morbid than killing zombies has been before. It leaves a lingering notion that the rest of the zombies you kill were loved ones to somebody, once. Even if they have become monsters now, they used to be somebody that somebody else cared about. This wasn't a story about saving a group of nameless NPCs, or battling a gang of bandits, or slaughtering dozens more zombies. It was a story about a man named Rupert, spread thin, stressed, and lying to himself just as much as he was lying to the children under his care.</p><p> </p><p>The last part of the quest chain is a fight with a big zombie you have to clear out to make it safer for the reinforcements called at the start of the quest, and after that you get (in our opinion) the best weapon upgrade blueprint in the game. After it's all said and done and reinforcements have arrived, Rupert returns to his workshop, and you get a bunch of guns to use or sell. All in all, the quest chain, while imperfect at times, does what it does well, and nothing more. It's not a gripping emotional rollercoaster, or something that'll leave you reevaluating your world view, but it's still good. The writing is solid, the voice acting is well done (especially for the children, but the bar was pretty low for them to be fair). It creates an excellent snapshot of the setting, and the kinds of ways people are cracking under the pressure. Short stories are important, not just for worldbuilding, but because the small snapshots of experiences and people in a setting can be just as valuable to somebody as a long, rich, plot-heavy adventure. It's not about the size, it's about what you do with it. This story wasn't big and elaborate because it didn't <em>have</em> to be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading, this was our first time writing something like this outside highschool. We have other ideas for essays, even more Dying Light-based ones, such as one focused on the accuracy and feel of the parkour, or about how well-written the protagonist is, but they're on the to-do list with about a million other things, so don't hold your breath. We hope you enjoyed it and got something out of it.<br/>-Anne</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>